


Drop Dead Legs

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Broken Bones, Feelings Realization, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: When Bill wipes out non-non heinously at the skatepark, nothing can stop Ted from taking care of his most excellent friend. Ted's determined to bring the world to Bill while he heals up and not even Captain Logan's needling will change his mind.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan & Bill S. Preston Esq., Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 124
Collections: billen ted





	Drop Dead Legs

**Author's Note:**

> There is no overly graphic description of specific injuries. Includes canon-typical use of "fag." Spoilers for _Weird Science_ and _Poltergeist_ I guess?
> 
> I really couldn't resist the title, guys, I'm sorry. [It's a Van Halen song.](https://youtu.be/-EwJ9PkcZk4)

Ted has never been so scared in his whole life. He doesn’t know what to do -- stay with Bill and make sure he didn’t move? Run across the skate park to the payphone? Try to pick Bill up and just… go?

A crowd of guys in tons of gear swoops in and makes the decision for him. Someone calls 911 on the payphone, someone else grabs Bill’s board where it’s rolling around in the bowl so no one else gets hurt. There are faces everywhere, pressing in, and Bill is sprawled on the curved concrete wall _screaming_. 

Ted can’t look, he _can’t_. Deacon didn’t even scream like this that time he was running at Waterloops after the lifeguard told him not to -- he’d smacked his face on the pavement and there had been a truly _heinous_ amount of blood for such a small cut. If Bill was in as much pain as it seemed like, with his face all twisted and red and his mouth just pouring out sound this way -- then it _must_ be bad.

Bill quiets like he’s running out of steam and instead of screaming he’s clutching at Ted’s clothes and making Ted promise he won’t let anyone see him pass out or puke. Ted’s not sure he can promise that, looking down at Bill and trying not to look at the most non-beauteous scrape across his nose and cheek.

“You’re gonna be _fine,_ duder,” Ted insists. “Totally fine. It’s nothing! It’s really nothing!”

He doesn’t know that it’s nothing and he doesn’t think it in the least. He just knows that he doesn’t know how to move or not move and the concrete makes a _really_ loud scraping sound against the plastic shells on his knees when he shifts.

“Make it stop,” Bill sobs. “Ted, please.” He turns his face away, pressing it against Ted’s thigh.

“Fag,” Ted whispers and he can feel a hot puff of breath through his jeans and he thinks Bill might have laughed.

The ambulance that pulls up to the edge of the park manages to scream louder than Bill and Ted thinks that might actually be an accomplishment. He’s vaguely aware of someone talking to one of the ambulance dudes while they load Bill onto the wheelie bed and seatbelt him on for safety. He’s shouting and sobbing out loud again now that they’ve touched him and Ted just wants to yell at them all to _stop it_.

“Yeah, I saw it happen,” they say while the ambulance dude takes notes. “He was in the bowl, came up the side fine and then his wheels didn't really catch right and he overcompensated. Looked like he was trying to come forward over the edge and the board slipped -- came down right on his shin and slid like a penguin.”

Ted lets someone help him to his feet and he jogs after Bill, a thank you barely off his lips before he’s taking off. “Hey, _wait!_ ” he yells as they get ahead of him when they clear the twisting system of obstacles in the park.

The one who had been taking notes slows down and lets him catch up while the others speed ahead with Bill strapped to the wheelie bed. “Your pal will be fine, kid.” They clap Ted on the shoulder like they’re an uncle at a holiday party he only sees once a year. “We’re taking him to _SD Community_.” 

They start to walk away and Ted jogs again to keep up. “I’m coming with him!”

“You related?”

“Well, no.”

“Then you’re not coming.”

“But you don’t even know who he is! How will you call his dad?”

“The back of his shirt says _B Preston Esquire_ and I picked this up off the ground.” Still moving, they flash Bill’s wallet, his student ID in the little plastic window. “And he hasn’t passed out yet. I think we’ll manage.”

“But if he passes out -- “

“We got it covered, kid.”

“My dad is Captain Logan!” Ted blurts in a rush. “You have to let me come.”

They roll their eyes and turn away, helping with the wheelie bed. They’re being most unreasonable, Ted thinks. He looks at Bill in the back of the ambulance, half covered in shadow. He looks very small and very scared. There’s snot dripping over his top lip. He needs a tissue, Ted thinks. Shouldn’t these ambulance dudes know when someone needs a tissue?

“All I gotta do is make _one call_ down to headquarters and you ambulance dudes are --”

“That’s not how this works, kid. I’m sure your pal will give you a call later when he’s home.”

“He won’t have to because I’m coming with him!”

They sigh and pinch the bridge of their nose. “Alright, fine. But you ride up front and you shut up and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes, sir!”

They roll their eyes and wave Ted toward the front of the big boxy car. Ted doesn’t object. He hops into the seat he’s offered and struggles for just a moment to pull the heavy door closed. He cringes when the mirror rattles with the force of it, sure he’s somehow jostled Bill around in the back by doing it. Bill’s voice is low, wavering around what sounds like a barely controlled moan, he’s telling the ambulance dudes in the back with him what happened and how he feels and they’re talking in code into their radios. Ted leans around the seat to look through the narrow space that’s open into the back of the vehicle. He gets abruptly shoved back into his seat where he hunches down and chews his thumb nail right down to the quick.

“Where’s Ted?” Bill squeaks from the back somewhere between the park and the hospital.

“He’s up --”

“I’m here!” Ted shouts back, turning and getting pushed back again. “I’m not goin’ anywhere!”

“Thanks, dude,” Bill says weakly.

The driver turns toward Ted when they park in front of the ER, sticking a finger out at him the same way his dad does when he’s making some point he thinks Ted’s too dense to get. “ _You_ are gonna sit in the waiting room.”

“But --”

“No buts, you grab a seat and wait for your friend.”

While Ted is distracted, trying to talk his way beyond the waiting room with the driver, the ambulance dudes in the back unload the wheelie bed and whisk Bill inside. Defeated, Ted lets the driver show him where the waiting room is, bashfully thanking them for letting him ride along.

Ted can’t stop fidgeting. He paces around the room and chews on his surviving thumb. It’s when he realizes he’s starving and scopes out the vending machine in the corner that he realizes that he’s left everything behind -- the skateboards, his backpack. He’s clunking around in his pads and helmet like a fool and _finally_ after what feels like hours Mr. Preston flies through the automatic doors and up to the desk.

“Yes, hello, Ted. Hello,” he says breathlessly and dismissively when Ted approaches, trying to gain access to the world of beeping monitors and beds and curtains beyond the waiting room doors. Ted’s left _again_ in the prison of connected chairs and last month’s magazines and he’s really beginning to resent the whole thing.

If it seemed like hours before Mr. Preston arrived, it must be _days_ before he comes out from behind the doors again and waves to Ted to beckon him over. Ted really doesn’t have to be asked twice. He springs up out of his seat and sprints across the room. He doesn’t want to appear overly eager and forces himself to slow to just long strides before he makes it all the way. Mr. Preston says something to the lady at the desk and she frowns and purses her lips before she finally nods and waves the both of them back again.

“Do they have to cut it off?” Ted asks quietly as they make their way through the maze of the ER.

“What?”

“His leg. Does it have to come off? He won’t like that very much.” Ted knows how bogus he sounds and he just can’t stop all of the weirdness from pouring out of his mouth.

“No, of course not. He’s getting X-rays now.” Mr. Preston moves a curtain aside and panic grips Ted’s chest at the empty space where a bed should be, just Mr. Preston’s briefcase and jacket sitting very lonely on the folding chair in the little cubby of a space. “What exactly happened?”

Ted tells it as best he can, he only saw so much as he rolled across the bowl himself, pushing to get enough momentum to shoot up the side when Bill’s board came flying toward him and Bill slid back down.

“Hey!” Ted hears, bright and shiny if kind of tired. “Ted!” A pair of dudes in blue pajama-looking uniforms push Bill in his bed around a narrow corner and back into the empty spot. “You stayed.” 

Bill grins and reaches out to tug on the extra bit of strap hanging from under Ted’s chin. He’s acting very strange for someone who was screaming and crying and snotting all over the place the last time Ted saw him. He takes Bill’s hand away from his chin and pats it, giving Mr. Preston a side-eye. “Of course I did, my friend.”

Mr. Preston suppresses a laugh. “They gave him something for pain. Apparently a very good something.”

Ted gestures toward Bill’s legs, relieved to see that it still looks like a regular leg even though it’s kind of fat and not so much the right color. He looks squarely at Mr. Preston because he’s feeling a little woozy looking at it. “I guess that’s why he’s not more upset about his jeans.”

His favorite pair, Ted thinks, all cut open almost right up to his waist. The leg of his shorts are even snipped underneath, caught up in the emergency, Ted supposes.

Another week passes by in the ER and Ted’s legs are getting sore and tired from standing around. His head is itchy and hot from his helmet. He hasn’t taken it off because he’s not sure where to put it down. Bill’s stuff is piled on the tray table along with his shoe. Mr. Preston keeps asking him if he wants to sit or if he wants to call his dad to go home but Ted doesn’t want either of those things. Just for Bill to be okay.

The month finishes and a doctor finally arrives to deliver the verdict. “Somehow,” she says. “Stroke of miracle, honestly if I understand correctly how it happened, we’ve got a nice clean break. Doesn’t look like the bones are displaced at all, just fractured. I was worried with all that swelling.”

“Alright,” Mr. Preston says in his most dadly-dude voice. “What now? Get a plaster on him and keep him in bed?”

“Not just yet. I’m going to splint it for the night. It’s much too swollen to put a cast on right now. Swelling goes down and his leg’ll just be floating around in there and that’s certainly no help at all.”

“I’m not sure how this works. Do you keep him overnight?”

“Aww _Dad_ , no, please? It smells like Granny S. Preston, Esquire in here,” Bill makes an awful face. He seems to be pretty focused on not moving too much, he’s been still as stone besides responding when Ted tries to distract him with conversation when he starts staring too much at his leg -- like he’s gonna bolt.

The doctor snorts. “I see pain meds let the brain-mouth filter get bypassed in this one.” Mr. Preston apologizes, his face pink and embarrassed. “Please! Don’t worry about it. Kid’s got a sense of humor. He’s gonna need one the next couple months.” A hospital dude in those blue pajamas comes over with a bundle of stuff in his arms and the doctor thanks him. He sticks around, hovering near the curtain like he’s waiting for something. “I wanna get this splint on before the pain relief wears off and get you all started on discharge. We’ll set up an appointment with ortho to get that casted too, swelling willing.” The doctor seems to finally notice Ted standing in the corner and frowns. “Are you alright?” Ted shakes his head first, then nods, then gives a thumbs-up. 

Ted wants to tell them to be gentle. Bill turns away while the doctor and the hospital dude mess with his leg. He sniffs real loud and grabs a handful of the sheet underneath him. Ted wants… he _wants_... 

Ted wants to hold Bill's hand.

He wants to wipe the tear that’s dripping off his chin away before anybody else sees it.

It’s a heck of a job getting Bill into the back of Mr. Preston’s station wagon and then they drive slower than Ted’s grandpa does on the way back to Bill’s house so they don’t knock him around too much.

“Shit,” Mr. Preston swears quietly. Bill’s face looks like he’s gonna explode with his face all red and holding his breath. “Billy, I don’t know how we’re gettin’ you in the house.” Ted hasn't heard Mr. Preston call him _Billy_ for a long time.

“I can sleep here tonight,” he says, wincing. “It’ll be like camping.”

Ted nods. It sounds like an excellent idea to him. Ted can make some Jiffy-pop in the house and fill a thermos up with hot chocolate just like when they used to camp in Bill’s backyard with a tent made out of the sheets from the closet. It would be a small adventure, take everyone’s minds off things.

“Don’t be silly, it’s supposed to rain tonight. It’ll be freezing.” Mr. Preston grumbles about sleeping in the car and how foolish that is while he opens the garage and unlocks the door into the house. He backs them in carefully and twists around in his seat. “Bill do you think you can scoot to the edge? Then we can get you up and in the door.”

“I think so.” It doesn’t really work. Bill shrieks and they abandon the attempt. There’s too many hands and not enough coordination. He doesn’t think he can hop, everything hurts too much.

“Dude,” Ted says, an idea popping into his head. “I could lift you up.”

“I guess that could work.” Bill swipes at his face with his sleeve.

“Ted have you even got that kind of upper body strength?” Mr. Preston leans against the car, frowning. “You’re a noodle, pal.”

Ted shrugs. “I throw him in at Waterloops all the time.”

“You _throw_ him -- I --” Mr. Preston puts his hands up in the air. “Just figure it out. I’m going in to make sure there’s nothing to trip on.” He stops and doubles back. “Why don’t you spend the night in the den? I can’t see you struggling all the way up the stairs, I’m afraid you’re gonna get more hurt.”

“Okay,” Bill says, defeated sounding. They watch Mr. Preston go inside and then they both look down at Bill’s splinted leg like it’s just going to take care of itself.

“I don’t think a piggy back is gonna work, dude.”

“I’m not holding onto you front-ways." Bill’s eyes are wide as he shakes his head. That would be _bogus_ and Ted doesn’t think it’ll do much to stop him from getting more hurt anyway.

“Do you think you can stand up?” Bill nods. “I can -- “ Ted holds his arms out like he’s carrying something.

“Like a princess.”

“Like a princess, dude.”

Bill’s face gets all pink again but they manage to get him standing. Ted bends down and catches Bill behind the knees. He waits for Bill to put his arms around his shoulders before he lifts. It’s only _kind of_ difficult and he tries not to groan too loud. He shuffles back, unsteady with Bill in his arms.

Bill opens his eyes when Ted gets his bearings, unsquishing his face. “Don’t drop me, dude.”

“I won’t,” Ted assures him. “Your majesty, Wilhelmina.”

“Shut up, Ted.”

It’s slow-going with lots of wincing, but they make it inside. Mr. Preston already has the pull out opened up in the den and he pretends not to look when Ted carefully deposits Bill down onto the mattress. 

Bill looks him up and down and laughs. “My knight in… scratched up plastic.” Ted laughs and mumbles _fag_ and it gets a laugh out of Bill which is worth it.

Bill knocks on his head like he’s knocking on a door and Ted remembers he’s still got his helmet and everything else on. He must look ridiculous! Ted whips the helmet off and holds it, clicking the strap open and closed.

“Well,” he says, looking down at his feet while Bill struggles to get himself settled, his cut up jeans proving difficult. “I guess, umm, I guess if you’re okay -- I guess I better get going. Unless you still need me! I could stay.”

Bill flops back, giving up on his attempt to get comfortable. “This is most non-triumphant.”

“Ted, you want a ride home?” Mr. Preston reappears with a glass of water in one hand and a plate with a sandwich in the other. He lifts his arm and a bottle of Tylenol falls into Bill’s lap. “I can run you over there real quick.”

“Nah, that’s okay Mr. Preston. I can walk.”

“You sure? You could sit tight and have something to eat. I can call your dad.”

Ted cringes. “No, sir. I can _most_ definitely walk. No need to call.”

“Why don’t you give _us_ a call then, when you get home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks dude!” Bill shouts after him as he makes his way out the door.

Ted doesn’t care much when it does start raining as he makes his way home. He puts his helmet back on, chinstrap dangling and smacking his shoulder, to try to keep the worst of it off his hair. It’s always a pain in the butt to dry his dumb hair. Either it’s damp for days or he’s spending an hour at least with his sputtering little hairdryer while his dad makes comments about the electricity. His shoes are a little squishy by the time he gets home and he thinks his shorts are probably wet too, but he feels kind of lighter and cleaner. Like he doesn’t have the ER scent clinging to him anymore.

“ _Theodore!_ ”

Ted cringes when he walks through the door. It’s a good thing they generally leave it unlocked when they’re home because his keys are in his backpack which is somewhere lost at the skatepark, probably forever. He wonders if he can slip Deacon a tenner to let Ted take his key down to the hardware store and have it copied and keep his mouth shut. That doesn’t solve the problem of all the things in his wallet, though -- his San Dimas High ID card, his battered paper learner’s permit, the laminated get-out-of-jail-free card with his dad’s signature on it and the SDPD logo on the front -- not to mention all the cash he had until the next lawn mowing job comes through.

“Theodore!”

His dad only really uses his whole name when he’s _really_ mad. Grounding for a month mad. One way trips to Alaska mad.

“Where _on Earth_ have you been? I’ve called the neighbors, the Preston house, the goddamn library of all places --”

On the couch sits his backpack. Leaning against it, his and Bill’s boards. Ted is _most_ perplexed and he’s standing there staring like a zombie when his dad appears in front of him, waving his hand.

“These _delinquents_ showed up with your things saying they got the address out of your wallet and you’d been taken to the goddamn hospital.”

“If they brought my stuff back I don’t think they’re delinquents, sir.”

“The hospital, Ted! The hospital!”

“Well.” It feels like there’s a thread of logic that Ted’s missing. Or his dad is missing. Or they’re both missing together, just watching it flap in the wind. “You called all those places, why didn’t you call the hospital? That’s where I was until a little bit ago.”

“I _did_ and there was no one admitted under your name or description, _Ted_. This isn’t my first rodeo with missing persons.” Ted’s dad grabs him and looks him up and down. He turns Ted’s face back and forth and then holds him at arm’s length to really give him a good look.

“Well,” Ted yanks his arms back and jams his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t the one who was hurt, Bill was. It was non-non-heinous, Dad.”

“What the hell happened?” Ted explains while his dad cringes. “Alright -- I -- _you_ \--” It’s not often that Captain Logan is at a loss for words and it is most unsettling to watch. Ted still feels like a bug under a glass with him standing so close so he takes a step back. “You could have called me. Should have called -- I don't know. Home, the station. Left a message.”

“I didn’t have any change for the payphone.”

Ted’s dad looks completely exasperated. “Jesus Christ, Ted.” He scrubs his face with his hands and gestures back toward the kitchen. “Dinner is in the oven. Take it out when the timer goes off. Deacon isn’t allowed to watch any television tonight -- I have to get back to the station.” He starts to walk away, patting himself down for his keys and stops to give Ted another hard look. “Why are you so wet?”

The wind picks up outside and the rain pelts the picture window. Captain Logan shakes his head and ducks toward the door.

***

“Frida Kahlo was this totally boss babe -- dude, come on, pay attention -- and she had this car accident, right? And she had to wear casts her whole life after that. So what she did was -- Ted, gimmie that blue marker -- she used a mirror and covered them in rad paintings. And when they cut that cast off and gave her a new one she did it all over again.”

Ted hands over the marker and watches Bill for a moment while he carefully fills in a shape at the top edge of his cast. He’s got the hem of his shorts shoved up into the crease of his leg and Ted’s gotta admit it looks a little racy with the bit of thigh not covered by anything and all the soft blonde hair in the sunset coming through the window. Bill sticks his tongue out and then changes his mind, putting the marker cap between his teeth instead. He jams the tip of the marker into all the tiny squares on the plaster to make sure there’s no white spots left over.

“When I’m finished with the top,” Bill explains, “I’m not so bendy. I could tell you what to draw and you could finish the rest.”

“Sure, dude.”

Bill has been most mirthful for someone who has mostly been stuck in bed and Ted isn’t sure whether it’s a fake-out or not. Bill is going on about wanting to get some paint pens from the craft store if there aren’t too many old ladies around. They keep trying to help him, poking and pinching and straightening him out and telling him his shirt is too short or too big or he should button it up. At least they don't try to kiss him like his granny did.

“Do you think they’ll let me keep it after?”

“Keep what?”

“My cast, man! It’s gonna be a work of art.” He pinches his fingers together and kisses them like a chef. “You think?”

“I don’t see why not, dude!” 

Bill goes to stick the marker back into the cap he’s got clenched between his teeth and he misses, marking his lip and his chin with the tip. He licks his thumb and wipes at it, succeeding only in smearing the blue smudge around. He gives up when Ted shakes his head and laughs and asks him to grab the alcohol out of the first aid kit in the bathroom. Ted comes back with the bottle and a wadded up handful of toilet paper and hands them over.

“So is it my turn to draw on your leg now?”

“Maybe later. I haven’t figured out the whole design yet.” 

Ted watches him try to clean himself up. The blue ink settles into the crackly lines on his lips. Ted starts to reach out, wanting to help. He’s done everything he can think of the last few weeks to do just that. He’s here at Bill’s house more than his own. Ted fetches things around the house and helps him back and forth to the bathroom when his arms are too sore to use the crutches. He runs to the library and the video store on his bike sometimes twice in one day -- even sometimes to the Circle K for slushies and instant noodles. He managed to get a tray of four back to the house by bike without spilling them and Ted’s pretty sure that qualifies him for the Olympics or something.

“Better?” Bill makes a face and turns to cough into his elbow over the alcohol fumes.

Ted nods and sits down on the edge of the bed, redirecting his hand to Bill’s foot, tracing the letters of his own name where they’re written in shaky blocks across the side. **T E D !**

They'd joked that he should have dotted it with a heart like it was 1953 or something and they were going steady. They'd laughed and called each other names and Bill watched him as he traced over the letters again to make them bigger and darker.

“Any books to exchange today?” Bill usually sends him with a list that he’s already called ahead for. The librarian has gotten to know Ted by sight and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad. He’s never been there so often before -- ever, maybe.

“Nah, not today. This weekend, probably. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Yeah! I mean, nah. I wouldn’t offer if I minded.”

“You know, Ted, you really are a most excellent friend.”

Bill looks at Ted _so softly_ , his face is like a blanket that’s been in the dryer. Ted snatches his hand away and gets up. He hops up onto the trampoline at the end of the bed and bounces while he talks. “What’s up with all the books anyway? You can’t possibly read that fast.”

“They’re art books, man! No need to read. Well, some reading. But not a lot. Haven't you ever looked at any of them?”

Ted looks at him expectantly while he bounces and Bill appears and disappears while his hair flops up and down. "Nope."

“Well... I like art class, you know that. At school. It’s the only one that’s not hard. I mean it’s _hard_ but it’s not hard like the others. I thought maybe I could take the summer thing at the community center -- don’t have to move around too much, you know, and it’s better than being stuck here all the time. Can’t really go very far unless Dad’s home to drive me. But when we went over there to sign me up the dude at the desk said all the spots were all full up! It was _absolutely_ bogus, dude. Bogus!”

“No way! Why couldn’t they just put another chair in the room? It’s art class.” Ted’s chest hurts and it’s weird. Bill hadn’t said he was going to sign up. Why would he want to do anything like that? Without Ted?

“Yes way! That’s what I said, dude.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I thought I could just make my own class. Dader got me a bunch of paper and pencils and markers and stuff. Really blew a buck, I think, all seems pretty fancy. I think he feels bad.” Bill jerks his thumb toward the turned up egg crate next to the bed with a disorganized pile on top. “So I’ve been looking at the books for ideas and things. Stuff to try.”

“Ah, that’s a most bodacious attitude, my friend.”

Bill grins, very satisfied with himself. “Oh, hey, look!” He twists around and leans over the side of the bed. “I was reading about _minimumism_ \-- ” He yanks something out of a pile of laundry and waves his hand for help getting back up. “Check it out.”

He shakes the wrinkles out of a sweatshirt and frowns at it for a second before he turns it inside out and twists it around for Ted to see the front. It looks like he colored in just one shoulder seam with a red marker.

“Eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Eh?”

“It’s a statement, dude.”

Bill air guitars, a big grin on his face. Ted reciprocates even though he doesn't really get it.

“Ted!” Mr. Preston’s voice floats up from the bottom of the stairs. “Captain wants you home for dinner!”

Ted shouts back that he’s heard it and smacks his sneaker reluctantly against the door frame. He’d rather have dinner with the Prestons, spend the evening with Bill listening to whatever petty thing Mr. Preston’s coworker had done that day.

“You alright, dude?”

“Yeah,” Ted sighs and knows that the tone of it negates the _yeah_. “I just don’t feel like going home. We’re having company.” Bill just looks at him, waiting. He doesn’t have to prod Ted for an answer that’s already forthcoming. “Dad’s pal from school, Oats.”

“Wasn't he that really weird guy? At your tenth birthday. He showed up looking like it was a twenty-one gun salute and gave you a savings bond for like five bucks or something.”

Ted nods. “He doesn’t come through here often, but when he does…” Ted shudders. He hasn’t told Bill about Alaska. About military school. The constant threat hanging over his head. But he did pretty okay in school last year! B’s and C’s are okay. They’re not failing. And he didn’t even get any detentions.

“Tomorrow’s movie night at least?” Bill shrugs with no further comfort to reasonably offer.

“Yeah! Takeout and tapes.” Ted grins and tips his head so his hair falls away from his eyes. Everything seems a little less grim remembering it. “Catch you later, Bill.”

“Catch you later, Ted!”

***

“And how are _you_ doing, Theodore? You’ve been rather quiet.”

“Fine, sir.” Ted puts his glass of water down, trying not to do it too loudly and aiming for the middle of the coaster.

“Ted, don’t be rude.”

He’s not sure how his response was rude. He’d kept it short and sweet, even called Oats _sir_ just like his dad always expects him to call people. Ted is fine, what else is there to say?

Oats clears his throat and exchanges a look with Ted’s dad. “How is school going?”

“Well, it’s summer, sir.” Ted spears a couple of string beans and starts to lift them to his mouth. His dad catches his eye and he stops and puts his fork down. “School is okay.”

“Your grades?”

“Average, sir.” Ted’s heart thuds in his chest. Is this what this visit is about? When Oats leaves, is Ted going with him?

“Well, there’s room for improvement then, isn’t there?” Ted glances at Deacon, wondering if he’s as weirded out by this whole thing as Ted is. He’s just plowing through his dinner like no one else is even in the room. “And how are you spending the summer? By the look of that hair it’s certainly not JROTC. Joined a team finally, I hope. Some good old football would do you good -- you look like a kicker!”

“No, sir, no sports.”

“Well that’s a shame, son, a real shame.”

“Theodore took up skateboarding,” Captain Logan offers. Oats wrinkles his nose and takes a long sip of water like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something. “It’s physical activity at least. But, he hasn’t actually been out doing it much.”

“Oh? Why not?” Oats gives Ted a hard look and asks if he’s too lazy to keep at it. Ted shakes his head and starts to defend himself, only to be cut off.

“His friend had a little accident at the skatepark, broke his leg. Ted’s been over there playing Nightengale all summer instead.” 

Oats and Ted’s dad start to talk about him like he’s not there. Ted bows his head and shovels the string beans he’d been trying to eat into his mouth. They’re lukewarm now, hardly appetizing. He stabs the block of meatloaf still on his plate figuring he should finish that off first before the whole thing turns too odious to choke down. Ted's dad isn't a bad cook at all but no one likes cold meatloaf.

His dad is telling Oats how he’s never seen Ted at the library so much in his whole damn life, going back and forth as Bill’s errand-boy while he convalesces.

Bill is his very best pal -- his most excellent friend. Why shouldn’t he help him out? Mr. Preston is at work all day and Bill is sitting at home all alone. They’ve managed to get out a few times -- once to the movies, a couple times to sit and have lunch at the park. They even tried to walk around the mall once but there were just _way_ too many people and no one seemed to pay any mind when they bumped into Bill or tapped their foot all annoyed because he wasn’t moving fast enough on his crutches. It was just easier for Ted to bring the world to him instead. He doesn’t understand why that doesn’t make perfect sense to Oats and his dad the way it does to him.

Ted’s glad he never said anything about the times he helped Bill into the bathroom. It wasn’t like he dropped his drawers or anything -- just out of bed and down the hall when his arms were too sore from the crutches and he was still learning how to use them. Bill holds Ted's forearms and Ted holds his and they sort of walk-hop down the hall upstairs.

“Ted. _Ted_.” Ted snaps his head up, yanked back to the conversation going on around him. “Colonel Oats asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m planning to see Yanks tomorrow, would you like to come along?”

“I didn’t know the Yankees were in town, sir. Did baseball season start already?”

“The air museum, Theodore, _really_ \-- we’ve been there before.” Ted’s dad raises an eyebrow so high that if his hairline wasn’t so far back they’d be touching.

“Are you coming, Dad?”

“Of course, Ted.”

A whole day with Oats? _No way_. But Ted’s dad is looking at him like he has no choice. Ted looks from Oats to his dad and across the table to Deacon who really is _most_ unhelpful tonight just stuffing his face chugging the tall glass of milk in front of him. “I -- I, um --” Ted drops his shoulders back and tries to make himself look a little taller in his seat. “I have plans, actually, sir.”

“With Preston?” Ted’s dad spits it out like a swear.

“Yes, sir.”

Ted’s dad rolls his eyes and looks to Oats, who has his face all scrunched up and shakes his head. “See what I mean?”

“I -- I -- I can cancel, Dad -- Colonel Oats, sir -- I can tell Bill we could hang out another day.”

He gets a dismissive wave and Oats asks Deacon if he’d like to go to the museum. Finally addressed directly, Deacon grins and nods his head and says he _loves_ planes. Their dad scruffs his hair and smiles. Ted wishes, only sometimes, that he could be more like Deacon.

***

Ted feels pretty darn accomplished when he’s able to both steer his bike _and_ hold onto a paper bag absolutely stuffed with takeout containers. The plastic video cases clack around inside his backpack while he pedals back across town and up the hill to the Preston abode. Mr. Preston answers the door and admits him over the threshold, lamenting with some degree of drama that he’s being abandoned for dinner time. It's very typical old dude joking but not embarrassing since it's not out in public.

“No worries, Mr. Preston,” Ted says with a grin. “I remembered you like cashew chicken!” 

Ted plunks down the bag on the kitchen island and takes out container after container until he finds the one marked _78_ and holding it out like a trophy. Mr. Preston looks a little bit shocked when the takes the container and even more when Ted passes him a little box of rice, too. He tells Ted he really didn’t have to do that and Ted shrugs it off. Even if Mr. Preston is an old dad dude why should he get _totally_ left out of _Takeout and Tapes Wednesday_ \-- which would probably sound better if it were on a Tuesday.

Mr. Preston puts the containers down and Ted sticks a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks through the little wire handles. “Theodore?”

 _Oh no_ , Ted thinks. Nothing good ever happens when an adult calls him by anything other than "Ted." He shouldn't have said Mr. Preston was old. Ted braces himself. After dinner with Colonel Oats, he feels like his insides are all shredded to ribbons. Mr. Preston always seems pretty chilled out. Ted hopes whatever he’s in for isn’t too harsh.

“You’ve really been an excellent friend to Bill -- especially this summer. But all the time really.” He looks _most_ pensive, like the photograph on the back of a very academic book. “I wish I had a friend like you two have when I was young.” 

He shakes his head like he's shaking away a fog and picks up the containers he’s been offered, moving them to the counter like he’s not sure what to do with them. “Thanks for these.”

Mr. Preston rummages in a drawer and takes out a handful of utensils and pulls plastic cups out of the cabinet. When Ted has everything Tetris’ed back into the paper bag he sits the cups and forks in the top.

“Bill’s already set up in the den,” he says mostly into the open fridge, taking out a brand new bottle of Sprite. He gestures with the bottle in the general direction of the den and closes the fridge with his foot. “He went though like half a sketchpad today, I think there’s something he wants to show off but hell if he’d show it to me.”

Bill is totally zoned out, sitting with his legs splayed out on the floor in front of the couch, his half-colorful cast propped up on a throw pillow. He’s staring like a zombie at the television, the remote half hanging out of his raised hand.

“Hey, Bill!” Ted calls from the doorway. Bill snaps back to reality and fumbles with the remote while he’s trying to change the channel away from the commercial for Jane Fonda’s workout videos. “Ready for some bodacious entertainment?”

“Heck yeah!” Bill grins up at Ted from his spot on the floor and holds his hands out to take the soda from his dad.

“Mr. Preston,” Ted asks on the off-chance. “Would you like to hang out with us? It would be…” Ted considers it for a moment. “Non-heinous.”

Mr. Preston laughs. “Depends on what you’re watching.”

“I got _Poltergeist_ and _Weird Science_!”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it.” He leans around to catch Bill’s attention. “Shout if you need anything.”

Bill’s cheeks turn just a little pink. “Yeah, Dad.”

Ted settles down on the floor and starts arranging the containers from the bag in a semi-circle around them while Bill pours them each a soda. “They changed the menu, dude. The numbers, you know? I grabbed an extra menu for you if you call up and order. The General is no longer number sixty-nine.”

“No way! Blasphemy, dude -- spicy General’s gotta be sixty-nine!” He spots the container with the number on it and leans forward to grab it. “Uh oh, what is it now?”

Ted thinks for a moment and shrugs. “I don’t remember. I’ll eat whatever it is if you don’t like it.”

Bill pops the container open and whoops at the bits of barbecue ribs that nearly fall out of the container it’s packed so full. “Sweet!” He pinches some with his fingers and eats them, licking the sauce off thoughtfully.

“C’mon dude, manners.” Ted pushes out his bottom lip in a pout and hands over a pair of chopsticks. 

Bill takes them and stabs them into the savory scented depths of the container. “I’m injured _most_ grievously and that, my friend, means I can do whatever the heck I want -- manners be most- _most_ damned.” 

Bill sticks his fingers back into the container and grabs another piece. He tips his head back and opens his mouth, slowly lowering the tidbit inside. Ted grabs at Bill’s side with his knuckles and Bill shrieks out a laugh, nearly tossing the food right out of the container.

“Alright, _alright_!” Bill’s still laughing and his face turns red. “Put _Weird Science_ in first. We’ve seen that one so if we miss something it won’t matter too much.”

“Good idea!” Ted shuffles over on his knees and pops the first tape into the VCR while Bill fiddles with the remote, setting the TV to channel three.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie Mr. Preston interrupts.

Kelly LeBrock steps out of the mist on screen and Ted snorts, recognition striking him. “Bill, you match the Frankenbabe!”

“Do not!”

“Well, not right now -- but usually!” Ted lifts up the hem of his tee shirt and shifts side-to-side in some semblance of a belly dance. Bill sputters, a few grains of white rice flying out of his full mouth.

Mr. Preston clears his throat from the doorway and when the two of them look at him like deer in headlights, he presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Ted shoves his shirt back down and sits up very straight. “Gentlemen,” he warbles in amusement. “I, umm, I’m gonna go out for a bit. Will you be alright on your own for a while?”

“Sure, Dader-do.”

Mr. Preston turns to leave and stops and comes back. “Ted, could I actually talk to Bill for a sec?”

Bill and Ted exchange a look and Ted nods and struggles to his feet. His butt has fallen asleep after sitting on the floor for so long. He shifts onto the couch and then up all the way, shaking the pins and needles out of his body.

Whatever it is, the talk is quick and Mr. Preston calls out for the boys to enjoy their night. Ted hesitates in the kitchen until he hears the door into the garage close. “What was that all about?” he asks, folding himself back down into his spot on the floor.

“Eh, he’s got a date, I think. Not that he’ll admit it, he’s just _meeting a friend_.” 

Ted shuffles forward and presses play on the VCR, someone hit the pause button. 

“Doesn't your dad ever pull that crap? I’m not sure if he thinks that _I’d think_ that it’s heinous or what. It’s just a date.” Bill huffs, annoyed, and grabs an egg roll, talking while he crunches through the fried wrapper. “Like, just go hang out with a babe, dude. It’s not a big deal.”

Captain Logan doesn’t make it a habit of going on dates, at least that Ted knows of. He’s always working anyway, Ted doesn’t think he’d have any time to go on a date even if he got one. He’d suspected once that his dad was seeing the lady who answers the phones at the station on the weekends but nothing ever came of it.

Bill considers the credits while they roll, the mood light again. “Too bad she’s not our gym teacher.” He does what he can to help clean up the pile of empty containers and soy sauce packets without moving around too much. He’s taken a couple of Tylenol but they haven’t really kicked in. “I’d pay a lot more attention to her than Coach Boomer. Could you imagine health class?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. The fortune cookie Ted tosses toward him hits him in the forehead and falls into his lap. “Hey!” He pulls open the plastic and cracks the cookie. “Place special emphasis on old friendship.”

Ted listens to the fortune and grins, a hand over his heart and the other flung into the air. “It’s too bad you didn’t break your leg at the end of the summer instead of the beginning.”

“I know, dude. It’s such a bummer.”

“No, no -- if you did it closer to school, I mean. Ultimate get out of gym excuse.” Ted thinks it’s a pretty brilliant idea and turns toward Bill as the VCR clicks, finished rewinding, to jam a little air guitar. Bill shakes his head, his shoulders bobbing in a quiet laugh. Ted turns serious, queuing up the next tape. “Bill S Preston, Esquire -- are you ready for something the _New York Times_ called ‘eerie and beautiful and occasionally vividly gruesome?’”

“Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan -- I am _so_ ready.”

Ted nods sharply, his hair flopping into his face. “Good!” He presses play and smacks the light switch on the wall before he settles back into his spot beside Bill on the floor.

Bill squints and cups his hands around his eyes over the opening sequences as the lights flash and the televisions in the possessed family home flip to the snow stations and little Carol Anne listens to spirits or something through the static. “Ted?” Bill asks and Ted wonders if he’s somehow scared already because nothing much has happened yet. “Do you also feel like you’re gonna be sick from these lights?”

Ted considers it for a moment and nods. “Yeah. Do you wanna ditch the movie?”

“Mm, maybe if it keeps it up. We’ll give it a few minutes.” They keep watching and eventually the flashing lights stop. “I don’t trust these kids,” Bill says very gravely. “Or these parents. What the heck kind of parents are these?” His lips are pursed in concern and he’s got his arms crossed and a hand on his chin the way their English teacher does when he’s listening to people give their impressions on some book that everyone else knows they didn’t read. “What little _gremlins_ ,” he scoffs. “They could’ve killed that guy on the bike.”

“You are _very_ serious, my friend.”

“Hm? Yeah.”

Ted’s not sure what’s gotten into Bill. He was fine a moment ago. Ted shrugs it off and slouches down, his back curved against the front of the couch and his legs stretched across the floor so he can see the dark outline of his socked feet against the light of the television. Ted’s not spooked by the movie more than he is confused. There’s a few weird little jumpscares and _then_ …

On the screen, a raw steak starts to walk across the kitchen counter. Ted feels like he’s missed something, he doesn’t know where the steak came from but he feels like it’s strange enough that he should really pay attention now that it’s happening.

Ted’s attention gets yanked away from the screen second by second. There’s tension in front of him that barely registers because Bill is inching closer to him. The guy on the screen starts freaking out and peeling off his own face in the bathroom mirror and Ted nearly jumps right out of his skin -- not because there’s a shrieking, bloody skeleton on the screen. Bill’s fingers scrabble against his side and hook into the folds of his shirt. He grips the threadbare fabric so tight he catches Ted’s skin and Ted has to fight to keep from yelping and jumping away.

“Dude,” Bill whispers, his tone a little strangled like he’s holding his breath. It’s a relief when the scene is over but Bill doesn’t seem to relax at all. Ted shifts a little closer, worried Bill’s going to upset his leg or knock the pillow it's propped up on away. 

Even with the arrival of the lady with the squeaky voice the movie itself still isn’t really that scary. The mom gets the kid back from the demon dimension and they wash off the ghost goop and decide to move away from the house. They spend one last night and Ted feels like it’s not a very smart move, especially when the boy is getting stared down by the awful clown doll.

“They should have thrown that thing out. Burned it or something. It was in the middle of all the supernatural weirdness, spinning around on the bed like a psycho!” Bill’s expression in the semi darkness is agog with disbelief. “Oh no,” he says when the scene jumps to the mom in the bathtub. “That babe is _not_ long for this world.”

She makes it out of the tub just fine and Ted has to laugh because he brushes his hair the same way when he tries to blow dry it. But _then_ they’re back in the kid’s room and the damn clown is _gone._

There’s a sound in the hallway and Ted’s not sure if Bill hears it. There’s a shifting, shuffling, moving kind of sound and Ted can’t take his eyes off the television to get a look at what it is. There’s a kind of grunt and the lights in the room suddenly flash on. Ted doesn’t know who screams first or who grabs who first -- but he does know that Bill is squeezing the life out of him and his face is smashed against Bill’s side and his own arms are wrapped awkwardly around Bill’s back and clutching at the reassuring denim of his shorts. 

There’s a shout and a loud bump and very slowly the realization that Mr. Preston is stumbling in the hall, jumping backward away from the doorway. He gets his feet under him, stopping himself sliding against the wall. “Geeze Louise, the thanks I get for trying to do something nice!” 

Mr. Preston has to shout over the screaming mom while she’s getting tossed around on the ceiling. He laughs nervously and holds up a pair of Blizzard cups from the Dairy Queen. Bill looks down at Ted where he’s smooshed, his face very red and his eyes very wide. They push away from each other and Ted throws himself across the floor toward the television to smack the pause button on the VCR.

“I thought you might enjoy some dessert.” Cautiously, Mr. Preston sets the ice creams down on the floor beside Bill and looks over at the screen Ted is crouched beside. “Maybe this movie is too much for you guys?”

“We’re -- we’re fine, Dad. You came in at a most inopportune moment, is all.”

“Yeah, Mr. Preston, it’s all good.”

“Alright then.” He picks up the crumpled paper bag full of the empty takeout containers and nods. “I’ll be upstairs. I’m home, all of that.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Bill and Ted nod in unison and Mr. Preston laughs. “Just make sure you clean up in here. And get home safe if I don’t see you before you head out, Ted.”

The rest of the flick moves very quickly. There’s skeletons popping up out of the hole they dug for the pool and there's caskets bursting out of the ground and the family just _leaves_ while the house is getting sucked into some kind of weird demonic vortex. In the end they find a motel room and they shove the television in the room right out the door.

The ice cream is a most welcome comfort and ted cleans the rest of their miscellaneous stuff up while Bill flips through the channels trying to find something other than the nighttime news to watch. Ted doesn’t want to go home just yet and Bill isn’t in any rush to make him go.

Somewhere in the middle of _Johnny Carson_ , Billy Crystal is talking about a book or something and _Ted's_ Bill’s fingers find Ted’s where they’re resting on the floor between them. “Hey, Ted,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off the television. “You wanna stay over.”

“Yeah,” Ted whispers back and it’s settled. Bill takes his hand back and rakes it through his hair.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Will you help me up?”

They’ve gotten good at working together to get Bill where he needs to go and it’s pretty quick that he’s upright from all the way down there on the floor and using a crutch to shuffle to the far side of the room and pop the closet open. He leans against the door and chucks a couple pillows across the room. He waits for Ted to be ready again before he tosses a quilt over too. Bill apologizes that he can’t help with getting the pull-out bed while they toss the couch cushions on the floor. It’s not big deal and Ted manages not to make any ridiculous sounds when the first tug on the handle is most unsuccessful and then very suddenly the springs pop and the mattress is jumping up and out at him.

Ted sits down on the mattress and bounces. Bill hesitates, glancing at the television and looking at the floor. “I, um, I’ll see you in the morning, Ted.”

“Uh huh.” Ted nods. “G’night, Bill.”

Ted sits up after Bill has gone away. He watches the rest of _Johnny Carson_ with the volume on low so he doesn’t disturb anyone. He turns the set off and flops backward, rolling off of the rumpled pile of the quilt and flailing a bit to get himself under it. He lays in the dark, staring at the ceiling for a while before he turns over and then over again. He can hear every creak in the whole house like claps of thunder. In the background of it all water runs through the pipes and Ted listens to the blood rush in his ears. He sits up again and stares hard at the television.

Ted rolls neatly out of bed and sprints down the hall. He takes the stairs two at a time, his heart racing. He halts in front of Bill’s bedroom door and catches his breath before he knocks quietly on the doorframe. “Bill?” he whispers.

There’s a tense pause and finally Bill whispers back, “Yeah?”

“Can… can I? I mean -- would _you_ mind very much -- if…” The darkness of the hall feels heavy against Ted’s shoulders and he fidgets from one foot to the other while he squints into the room.

“Yeah,” Bill finally whispers back again. “Yeah. Yeah.” He grabs the sheet and pulls it toward himself, uncovering the empty space in the bed beside him. Ted takes a long step into the room and Bill hisses out, “Wait!”

“I’m sorry!” Ted whispers, “I’ll go back downstairs!”

“No -- no -- just… The desk light. Turn it on?” 

Ted is happy to do it. He lopes across the room, nearly tripping over the trampoline on his way. He turns on the light and then dives into bed. He apologizes for jostling Bill and upsetting how he’s balanced his leg, gratefully taking the half of the sheet he’s offered. It’s a bit warm but being covered always seemed like a most solid defense against all the things that go bump in the night.

Ted stares up at the familiar ceiling. He’s glad for the light. It’s not bright, but it’s enough to let the shadows be what they are. He’s really done a good job at freaking himself out over a dumb movie that wasn’t even really that scary. It’s Mr. Preston’s fault, he thinks, for coming in when he did. Ted swallows, throat feeling like it’s coated in thick, wet school paste. Bill is turned away from him and Ted thinks he might be holding his breath for how perfectly stone-still he is. Most abruptly, Bill shifts and turns. He whallops Ted’s shin with his casted foot and they both groan and wince and apologize. Bill’s face is all scrunched up like he’s going to explode, his teeth gritted _real_ tight. He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes hard right in Ted’s face. He’s very close.

“You okay?” Ted asks quietly.

“I’ll be fine,” Bill assures him with a non-assuring face. They stare at each other from way too close for a few heartbeats. “Ted?”

“Yes, Bill?”

“You really are my most excellent friend,” Bill says. Ted can hardly hear him, like someone’s turned the volume too far down. “You don’t have to spend all your time here. With me. But you do anyway.”

Ted can’t imagine spending the time any other way. His dad keeps on about how he’s got other friends and Bill’s got other friends and there’s no reason to just spend all their time together and how what’s the point of having spent all the money they did on that skateboard and all that gear if he’s not going to use them and --

“I don’t remember a lot of it, but Dad says you stayed with me. At the hospital, you know. But I do remember -- umm -- at the park. When I fell. And you didn’t let me go.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I was… I was _most_ petrified, Ted.”

“Well, I would be surprised if you were excited about the whole thing.”

Bill snorts and it’s nice to see him smile again in the shadows. “I heard the message. The one your dad left on the machine that day. I think he must have called before we got home.”

“Was it bad?”

“Pretty bad.” 

Ted winces. Bill reaches up to scratch his nose. You can still kind of see where his face got all scraped up. It’s a different shade of pink than the rest of him, just a little shiny. It’s more obvious in the low light like this. Ted wonders if he’ll always have a most heinous -- non-heinous? -- scar from it, or it’ll keep getting lighter until it’s all gone. He wants to touch it.

“Ted?”

“Yes, Bill?”

“I feel like… I _feel_ \-- I’m…” Bill squeezes his eyes shut again. He’s breathing very hard and Ted thinks his own face is so hot because of it. “I feel like you’re more than just my most excellent friend.” He says it all in a rush like it’s one long word.

“I always have, too, Bill.”

“No, Ted, I don’t think you get it.” He scratches his nose again and looks away. “I don’t think _I_ get it either.”

They stare at each other and Ted thinks maybe Bill is as afraid to keep talking as Ted is to start talking. He’s not sure he understands what Bill is trying to say at all, he’s right about that much.

Ted frees a hand from under the sheet and reaches up. He touches Bill’s face, following the edge of the pink line on his cheek. Bill flinches and he stops.

“Ted, I’m…” He makes a frustrated sound. “We…”

Ted cranes his neck so their faces are closer. He squishes his eyes shut very tight and smashes his lips against Bill’s.

It’s quick and it makes his heart hammer like running laps in Gym class for being late.

“Do it again,” Bill whispers. When Ted hazards a look his eyes are wide. He looks surprised and terrified and even in such low light Ted can see how totally red his face is.

Ted does it again. Longer this time. Like a test-kiss with a babe in the back row at the movies, just to see if she’s really into it or not -- if she’s just letting you because she thinks she has to because it’s the back row. Bill pushes back with his face like he’s doing the same thing and Ted hazards the chance of putting his hand on Bill’s face again. He backs off to breathe, lightheaded from all of it.

Ted kisses Bill for real and he feels hot all over.

Bill laughs and turns his face into the pillow to sputter and choke. “I think… I think we should go to sleep.”

“You’re probably right.” Ted holds the sheet up so that Bill can turn over again without getting all tangled up. Ted turns over, too, facing away. He’s got the most curious urge to wrap his arms around Bill like that. “Fag,” Ted murmurs and Bill snorts right out loud. “Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah, Ted?”

“Your dad said you had something to show me. Something you drew.”

“Oh yeah! I made a logo for the band. I think it’s pretty sweet.”

“Killer, dude. I wanna see in the morning!”

“Absolutely! I think it would make triumphant cover art, too.”

“ _Sweet_. We just have to get instruments now. Hey, Bill?”

“Uh huh?”

“Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments!
> 
> [Find me here.](https://aryagreenleaf.carrd.co/)


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